


Home At Last

by withinmelove



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 18:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13576257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove
Summary: From the prompt: "After Bucky and Steve are reunited Bucky becomes very touchy. It starts with casual hand holding and quickly evolves into him pulling Steve into his lap. It gets even worse when other people are in the room."





	Home At Last

**Author's Note:**

> So first off this is a fill for this prompt: https://capkink.dreamwidth.org/1349.html?thread=154693#cmt154693
> 
> Second the mechanics of Bucky's arm are completely made up by me. This is some handwaving I made up to move my story forward without spending a massive amount of time about how it works. 
> 
> Third I adore writing Bucky as still being a heavy mixture of Winter Soldier who speaks very little to not at all. In this fic he speaks once.

After his river rescue of the Mission named Steve Rogers, the Asset finds he can’t bear the thought of leaving. He tries to. After he pops his shoulder back into place against a tree, he means to keep walking. Go and find some place to lay low, kill any HYDRA agents that might scout the crash site, and leave once the Mission’s safety is secured by the Avengers. But his feet seem glued to the ground, taking him not one step farther. So long does he stand there that Steve Rogers starts to come back to consciousness.

This should be when he bolts off, but instead the Asset returns to his side. Steve’s still disorientated, although not enough to struggle with recognizing him. His mouth drops open in shock (showing his straight and pearly white teeth), squinting as if that will make his perfect vision any better. It appears the Americans take care of their weapons too.

“Buck?” Steve rasps out as he reaches for him. The Asset nods and allows him to cradle his jaw. The name and soft touch if nothing else feel right. “You stayed. Do you...do you know who I am?” Again he nods. The Mission is Steve Rogers and he stayed...because...because he _needs_ to. No directive guiding this first choice of loyalty. That is distinctively disturbing. Steve sits up before rising to his feet unsteadily, reaching out for balance, to which ~~Bucky~~ the Asset gives him his shoulder to lean on. The press of Steve's body against his side banishes the Asset’s unease in place of concern. He need not worry.

This is the right choice.

Once Steve is on his feet, limping heavily and leaning on Bucky, he leads them both towards an enormous glass and steel building towering in the distance. By the time they are in the shadow of the building heading in the direction of the garage doors, Steve no longer needs his support. One of the many doors opens when Steve shouts out, “Jarvis, open up, it’s me!” 

They enter into the hulking concrete belly of the building. Bucky doesn’t like the way Steve strides ahead. Too many possible hiding places in or around the various cars and trucks. After being reunited with the Mission - _Steve_ (unsettling how the name rings true) he won’t let him be hurt again so soon. He reaches out and clasps Steve’s hand to pull him back to his side. This gets him a wide-eyed look, but a squeeze too. 

“You okay?” Steve asks, to which the Asset nods. Silly man would think he needs comforting. Even as they head inside to an elevator, Bucky holds tightly to his Mission. Steve tries to exit first when the doors open on the thirtieth floor, but Bucky won’t let him, pushing Steve behind himself, taking a visual sweep of the area, favored knife at the ready. 

He pushes Steve farther back into the elevator at the group of people all standing slack-jawed in a large kitchen area. Unease trickles down his spine at the red hair of the one woman in the midst of the men. Even with his superb training, he knows he cannot protect the Mission against this many threats. The metal arm whirs and the plates shift as he adjusts his stance. Right now his body isn’t at peak efficiency as he’s not been able to rest for more than twenty-four hours or been given nutrients. He was to be fed and repaired after killing Steve Rogers, but running away means that now the Asset is running low on all resources. 

Steve grasps his hand again. “Buck, it’s fine, okay? These are friends and we’re safe here.” Bucky wants to hide, to not deal with these strangers. Instead, he only grunts in annoyance, letting Steve lead him to the table. He does all the talking while Bucky sits at his side shoveling in the scrambled eggs with cheese, buttered toast, bacon and chocolate chip pancakes put before him by the man named Clint as the other one called Bruce cooks at the stove. The short man called Tony standing by Steve takes over speaking whenever Steve stops to eat, asking the air what having Bucky around means for the Avengers, for S.H.I.E.L.D, and if he is safe to keep. 

The Asset doesn’t care what Tony is saying, not when Steve is safe at his side and eating. But Steve does, for his voice goes low and tight in response to that last statement. Bucky tenses, ready to defend him if needed, although he cleans his plate in the meantime as he watches. No letting food go to waste if he can help it. He’s not sure when this veritable feast will happen again. However, his fists and knives aren’t needed as Steve settles down and goes back to eating while the red-haired woman named Natasha speaks up. 

Finally, once they’ve had their fill, Tony ushers them to the elevator. At once, Bucky herds Steve into the corner, placing himself solidly between him and Tony. 

Steve’s hand clasps his shoulder. “Buck, I’m safe,” he soothes as Tony snorts and shakes his head. He likes how Steve’s warm hand feels. He will protect Steve all the more for this contact. 

“It’s fine, Steve. It makes him feel better. Not like you couldn’t snap me in two all by yourself anyway.” Tony flaps a dismissive hand in their direction. Bucky knows they should escape now that they’ve been fed, but exhaustion is dragging him down. Once they reach the thirty-fifth floor (too high to jump from), he stalks through the wing, knife at the ready while Steve and Tony wait by the elevator. 

Once all cleared, Tony shows them their separate rooms (down the hall from each other) before quickly taking his leave. Bucky waits until he hears the soft whirr of the elevator descending to gather up his comforter and barge right into Steve’s room. Steve doesn’t question why he’s shown up, he simply scoots over in the bed allowing him space to get in. He locks the door before marching over to the bed, making sure Steve’s properly covered in blankets before going into the bathroom for a shower and to take care of business. Close as to collapse as he is, it’s an undisciplined soldier that doesn’t clean up after a mission (even a failed one). There’s no need to do a perimeter sweep as he did a repeat check before he came in here to lay down.

“Jarvis, let Bucky know if anyone comes by, okay? Tell him who it is too,” Steve orders the walls, which answer back with a crisp voice.

“Understood, sir. Goodnight Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes.” A help to know there is an ally in the walls that will assist Bucky. He gives a pat to the wall by the bed. Of course, that doesn’t alleviate his vigilance once Steve falls asleep. However, it takes far too long for Steve to actually go to sleep considering the injuries he, the Asset, dealt and the toll that took on his body to recover from. But it’s at least three hours before Steve even starts to give in to his eyelids sliding closed. 

They lie on their sides facing each other, and for the longest time Steve just looks at him. A few times he seems on the verge of asking something, but holds back. Bucky is curious to know; however, as the Asset, it isn’t his place to inquire. Besides, he’s content to be so close to Steve. Even with his memories gone, the Mission has a soothing, familiar presence. It is enough to be close to him, warm and fed.

Bucky’s just started to drowse when Steve whispers, “Hey, Buck.” He blinks blearily at him. “Can I stroke your face?” A nod before he closes his eyes again. 

Steve’s fingertips are warm and light as they stroke from his forehead down to his chin. Bucky hums in pleasure when Steve firmly runs his thumb over his right eyebrow to his temple. The tension starts to melt away as he repeats the motion on the left eyebrow, alternating between them. Soon enough, Steve’s hand wanders down to his jaw, short fingernails rasping on the stubble as Steve scratches his jaw, working his way up and behind Bucky’s left ear. Bucky groans, shifting closer, draping his metal arm over Steve’s waist. Now Steve’s fingers are scratching his scalp, the nape of his neck when not tousling his hair into a tangled mess. In the morning, he’ll care. 

Without realizing it, he falls asleep. 

Three hours later, Bucky jolts awake, his skin prickling. Steve is sleeping peacefully

He clears his throat, croaking out,“Jarvis, report.”

“There are no Avengers on this floor, Sergeant Barnes. The doors and windows are still locked and undamaged. I will report any changes at once.” Bucky nods before curling around Steve, who sighs in his sleep, but doesn’t shift away. 

\--

It’s a week later and Bucky’s been settling in to the Avengers Tower fairly well, all things considered. Even in that little bit of time, he’s had a small revelation. The Winter Soldier needs only minimal nutrients, hydration, and sleep to survive. What _Bucky_ is coming to understand about himself as the man apart from the Winter Soldier is that he needs physical affection. He can’t seem to get enough of Steve now that they are living together so closely. 

Bucky’s lounging in the living room, his back resting against the arm of the sectional couch, reading when Steve walks by, heading for the second couch. Without even a thought of asking permission, he reaches out and grabs onto the edge of Steve’s oversized hoodie, causing Steve to stumble at the sudden resistance before shooting him an amused look. 

“Yeah, Buck? Need something?” 

A nod as Bucky pulls more persistently on the hoodie. This seems to get Steve to understand what he wants, for he smiles with a nod. 

“‘Course, I’ll sit with you.” 

However, Steve takes a seat at his feet. Not quite what Bucky was wanting. So he rectifies this by pulling at Steve...or tries to…he’s heavy enough that Bucky even with his strength can’t fully pick him up. Instead, he ends up half draping Steve over his legs instead. Better than before, but not what he wanted. His expression must convey his annoyance, because Steve grins and laughs. He stands up, and before Bucky can protest he’s grabbing his ankles, pulling him flat onto his back. A tingle sparks low in his belly when Steve proceeds to lie down on top of him, his face tucked into Bucky’s neck. 

Now he is a warm, solid weight all over. In this vulnerable position, he should be panicking, but all he can find is aroused contentment at the press of Steve’s bigger, muscular body. 

“You can _tell_ me what you want, okay? Use your words,” Steve teases, his fingers finding Bucky’s hair. In return, Bucky just groans in appreciation, rucking up Steve’s hoodie to touch him all the more. 

\--

The next time Bucky feels the urge to be affectionate is in the kitchen three days later. Steve’s talking to Peter (the newest Avenger, and a young one at that). He’s leaning against the island counter, his back to the fridge, where Bucky is rummaging for food. They’re discussing Peter’s schoolwork and plans for the future. Nothing of much interest to Bucky himself. Not finding anything, he closes the fridge before sidling up behind Steve, leaning into his back, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

At this, Steve subtly leans back into him, and it’s the most natural thing to wrap his arms around Steve’s trim waist. Peter’s eyes flicker down for a moment to where Bucky’s arms are, but he doesn’t miss a beat even though his face flushes a bit. After a time, Bucky spaces out, idly rubbing his chin side-to-side against Steve’s bare shoulder not covered by his tank top strap. Just a soothing, repetitive motion, nothing meant by it. However, this time when Steve shifts against him, that round ass presses back into Bucky’s groin with clear intent. 

So who can blame him when he presses up for more? Peter’s face is getting pink again, but the silly kid tries to politely overlook the fact that he and Steve are rubbing against one another. Well, if he wants to watch, Bucky can’t say he’d mind too much. Might be nice. Before he can take that line of thinking any further, Steve says Peter should go ahead and head down to the gym, he’ll catch up with him in a minute. 

Peter, who has gone completely pink, nods before hurrying from the room. Steve tries to turn around, but Bucky firmly pins him in place against the island, one hand on Steve’s hip, the metal hand holding onto the counter. It’s still a worry for him that he might accidentally hurt Steve. When he kisses the nape of Steve’s neck before rubbing his stubbled cheek over the spot, Bucky feels Steve shiver at the sensation. 

“Buck, Christ, please don’t scar our newest person. And no giving me awkward boners either. Lucky Peter left first.” Bucky can’t help laughing as he nuzzles Steve’s ear, his right hand wandering down to where, yes indeed, Steve is tenting his jeans. Steve rests his hand over Bucky’s as Bucky palms him, getting Steve to grind his ass more firmly into his groin. 

He likes this. This newfound ability to get Steve turned on. That he is capable of giving this affectionate touching. He is not too broken to give this, to enjoy himself.

\--

What quickly becomes an irritation during this peaceful time is that the metal arm starts to malfunction. Not in a way that is painful (even if it was not that he’d let the pain show), but just so that it makes doing regular tasks a hassle. For starters, Bucky’s losing mobility and dexterity in his fingers. Often they lock into place, fingers fanned out. At least that’s easier to hide than the plates on the arm shifting constantly. It’s unsettling, and no doubt his agitation doesn’t soothe the circuitry that is on the fritz already. 

“Has your arm been making noise like that all night?” Steve asks, frowning. It has, and that’s why Bucky hadn’t laid down with him as usual. They’re in the kitchen, where Bucky’s trying out his hand at cooking. So far, he can make similar chocolate chip pancakes to those he ate on his first night here. Steve keeps telling him he can eat whatever is in the kitchen whenever he wants, but still Bucky doesn’t like to do so alone. He can’t get in trouble if Steve’s eating too. 

Bucky doesn’t answer, focusing on flipping the pancake one-handed. Certainly not helpful that his metal fingers aren’t working today either. At this lack of an answer Steve moves around to his left side, lifting up the arm, his eyes widening at the rigid fingers splayed open. 

“Buck.” Steve’s jaw is tight. Not pleased. “How long has your arm been malfunctioning?” he asks, quiet enough to not sound as angry as he truly is. Bucky swallows, white-knuckling the plastic spatula in his right hand, not daring to move. He’s been good, never giving a reason for correction. Panic he’s not felt since HYDRA closes his throat. He doesn’t know how Steve will punish him for withholding this information.

“Buck, _Bucky_ , look at me.” Steve’s large warm hands cup his face, forcing the Asset to look at him. There’s no more anger, but fright and concern in those blue eyes. “It’s okay, you’re safe, you’re not being punished. Focus on your breathing, repeat after me.” Without realizing, he’s started to breathe in shallow gasps. The instructions ground him. He isn’t as light-headed once he manages to get a grip on himself again. When his breathing returns to normal, a shaky smile twitches at Steve’s lips before he glances to the pan and pushes it off the heating element as the batter’s started to burn. Shame squirms in his gut. Steve would never hurt him, not when Bucky is his now. 

“How are you feeling? Better?” Steve questions, letting go of his face. Bucky wants the soothing touch, but nods. He’s misbehaved enough today. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you like that, it was my fault. Just - please let me know when you have problems, okay? I want you healthy and happy.” Again, Bucky nods. He will do better. “With that being said, would you be okay with Tony looking at your arm? And Bruce has been wanting to do a physical along with some blood tests. Now is as good a time as any to do all that.” 

He supposes he should say yes. If he must make up for his bad behavior in this way, then he will. Anything they might do can be no worse than HYDRA and nothing so frightening as Steve when angered. A third nod gets him a relieved smile and a hug. 

It’s a couple hours later that they take the elevator down to Tony’s lab (breakfast continued and eaten, after which they lounge on the couch). After Bucky had agreed to be poked and prodded, Steve put in a call to Tony, who had rearranged his schedule to fit them into his day. Bucky holds hands with Steve, relieved that he’ll soon have the use of his arm back. Tony doesn’t miss the affectionate display when they walk in. 

“Pull up another chair, Cap. I don’t mind if you hold hands, but I need Barnes to stay still as much as possible,” Tony orders. “You, Barnes, sit beside that table and lay your left arm on it.” He’s not intimidating or even vaguely threatening, but that’s not the point. 

Bucky does as told, happy when Steve is at his side again, large hand clasping his. Tony’s tools are all laid out on the table, gleaming from how well-cared-for they are. Over his eyes, Tony puts on goggles, before sliding on protective gloves.

“So when did Mr. Silent become all lovey-dovey? Last I saw he was pretty snappy, even glowering at you. I’m going to look over your arm and see if I can take it off, okay? I’ve got a shot from Bruce to help. Brachial plexus block, he calls it. Numbs the area without putting you under,” Tony says, directing the last bit towards him. Bucky nods, skin prickling at the needle in Tony’s hand. Instead, he looks to Steve as Tony steps into his personal space.

“He’s more comfortable now and no one’s proved to be a threat. I think having Jarvis around to keep an eye on things helps,” Steve answers, grasp tightening when Tony inserts the needle into the area close to his armpit before skin turns into metal. The numbness slowly begins to spread. A relief, as Bucky couldn’t have promised not to scream. Still, he wishes he’d been given a mouthguard to bite just in case. Steve’s expression tightens as his eyes flicker to Tony, who has begun to look over the arm, clearly unsure of how to operate from his hesitant touching.

Bucky turns to Tony, grabbing his right hand (he splutters a protest trying to pull away) placing it into the armpit of the metal. He remembers that there is something here that the handlers would press to allow them to work on the arm. Whatever it was, it allowed them to open up the metal with ease. (He never touches there. Strictly forbidden, and even Steve’s gentleness cannot break that conditioning). 

Tony must feel whatever it is, for his brows furrow as his fingers probe about. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve demands, eyes darting between him and Tony. Bucky moves Steve’s hand to his head before reaching out for the other hand. He likes it when Steve plays with his hair, and it seems wise to keep him occupied. It should not make him feel happy to see this display of concern, but he is greedy for all that Steve has to give.

“It’s fine, Steve,” Tony soothes as he presses a certain spot. “He just showed me how to mess with the arm is all.” A click and the plates that have been shifting so restlessly all day stop before settling back into their normal position. Steve turns his worried eyes on him, to which Bucky smiles, leaning his head into Steve’s hand for pets. Playing with his hair does seem to soothe Steve’s nerves as Tony works on the arm, mumbling to himself. Steve doesn’t bother to answer to Tony’s rambling and Bucky is just happy to be touched so gently. There’s no need to speak.

An hour passes and finally the arm is taken off, after which a cap is placed over the loose wires. A lopsided sensation without it, but nothing he can’t get over. Besides, he’ll have the arm back soon enough once Tony fixes the circuitry. 

Now it’s time for the physical. A grinding sensation starts up low in his bowels. If it wasn’t for the fact he needs to do this, prove that he is good and obedient, he would never have set foot in the medical wing. Second only to The Chair, Bucky had hated and dreaded the doctors who “cared” for his body. With his one hand, he holds tight to Steve while forcing his feet to keep moving.

A nurse named Helen is awaiting their arrival at a check-in desk, where she leads them farther into the wing where she checks his height and weight (“You’re still underweight, but keep eating and you’ll be good”) before sending him into a bathroom to give a urine sample. Afterwards, he and Steve are shown into an examination room. Obediently, Bucky hops up on the odd table/bed, the paper crackling underneath him whenever he should move in the slightest. Helen is prepping when Bruce arrives and they converse quietly over his health and body.

In the meantime, he sees no shame in pulling Steve in between his legs, lightly locking his ankles together. Steve flushes at this possessive move; even his ears are pink. Holding him close settles the fluttering panic in Bucky’s chest. 

“Buck, let Bruce and Helen do their job,” he scolds, although there’s no true reproach in his voice, nor does he make a move to pull away. 

“You’re fine, Steve, I’d rather have him happy and cooperative than not. I can work around you. We’ll need to be able to look over the scarring in a minute, but you only need move to his other side when we do,” Bruce assures. Steve pokes Bucky’s chest.

“Be appropriate, okay? No getting grabby.” Bucky pouts, but stays still as told. Checking over his vitals goes without a hitch. Just Bruce listening to his heart and lungs, checking with a light on his ears, eyes and mouth. Nothing too invasive. By now, he’s been able to calm down a bit.

It’s when the nurse approaches with a tray of needles (six, he counts) that his panic kickstarts hard. He shoves at Steve’s chest, who trips back into the wall, before he’s on his feet and pressed back into a corner of the room, reaching the knife that’s not at his hip. A look down reminds him that he’s not wearing his tactical gear. In fact, for the past week he hasn’t done so. Instead, he’s been enjoying soft sweatpants and oversized hoodies. 

Bruce blinks in surprise, but stays where he is, as does the nurse. It is her he watches. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky, we should have let you know there were vaccinations included. We need to update them as we don’t know what HYDRA might or might not have given you.” 

The logical part of his brain tells him he should get back on that table to let them do their job. The vaccination won’t take more than two minutes tops, but his trembling muscles refuse to listen. 

“How can we help you, Bucky?” Helen asks, putting the tray down onto the counter. He glances at Steve, who wears a pained expression, but it’s clear he won’t interfere. It’s a struggle to try and control his breathing first and foremost. Panic is fluttering wildly in his ribcage even as he edges closer to Bruce and Helen. When he’s close enough to touch, he offers the only arm left to him. A shock when neither of them pounces on him to administer the shots. 

“Is it okay if I put my hands on you?” Bruce inquires, his face dead serious with earnestness. Bucky nods, just wanting this to be over. A pleading look towards Steve has him at his side at once. 

“You’ll be okay. I had to get this done when I first woke up too,” Steve assures. Thankfully, the shots are administered with care so that they are only annoyances. It’s unnecessary, but after they’re done, Bucky learns into Steve. Bruce mistakes the gesture for tiredness. 

“With all the updates and an added one for the flu shot, you’ll likely be pretty drowsy. If your serum is similar to Steve’s, then by tomorrow you’ll feel normal. If not, it’s just a couple of days of fatigue and a sore arm,” Bruce explains. 

Afterwards, they curl up on the couch as it turns out Bruce is right. He’s exhausted from the vaccinations and flu shot. Bucky lies on his side, wrapped up in a comforter warm and content while Steve sits at his feet doodling in his sketchbook. He could not ask for more.

**Author's Note:**

> My beta zilia is forever propping up my writing with all her punctuation and grammar editing. I love her dearly and encourage any Marvel fans to check out her work: http://archiveofourown.org/users/zilia/pseuds/zilia/works
> 
> Please do leave a comment it means a ton to me to hear from readers. I'll always answer back :)


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